Image of Me
by Sephielya J. Maxwell
Summary: Small drabble for OroKabu. How exactally does Orochimaru view his loyal medic?


1

Title: Image of Me

_/Look at me what do you **see**?_

_Am I **real** or just a** dream**?_

_Am** I** something that you **need**?_

_Or just an** image** of **me**?_

_So if you** think** that you're in **love** with me_

_Or is it just the whole **idea**?/_

"_Image of me"_

The Sannin was the first to wake in the dim light of the room. Candles that had been left burning were now nothing but sputtering stumps, leaving a lingering scent of sweat and burned wax in the wake of hazy smoke. Giving a deep sigh, Orochimaru's golden eyes turned to the other side of the bed, where his companion lay still fast asleep. His hair seemed to be spun silver splayed out across his milky shoulders, and his slender body was mostly uncovered as the sheets had pooled around his waist during sleep. His arms were under the pillow, which only stretched him out all the more. Giving a slight smile, Orochimaru reached out slowly to touch the silky hair, brushing it from those flawless shoulders. It felt wonderful as he slid his pale fingers through it, uncovering what it hid. Marks of passion and play had been healed in his sleep as well, it seemed, leaving a perfectly clean canvas behind.

Propping himself up on one arm, the slightly calloused pads of his fingertips touched the fine angles of his medic's shoulders, tracing them. His skin was smooth and soft, softer than anyone Orochimaru had ever known. Kabuto had told him once that this was because he bathed with such caution. Dead skin and hair could be used to track one, so he carefully showered with special herbs to keep his skin moisturized and healthy, and used only the best for his long hair. Kabuto liked to call it being a 'Cautious Spy'. Hmph. And people called the Sannin a diva... Orochimaru could care less what he washed his own hair with, or if his hands got dry. Still... His medic's hands were always soft and warm when they had bandaged his arms, or tended a would. The way a medic's hands _should _be. The Sannin's long nails traveled down the other's spine slowly, over each and every bump of his spine. Kabuto gave a slight shudder in his sleep, shifting when his master reached his lower back, stopping just at the swell of his supple backside. The Sannin glanced back to his servant's face, but Kabuto remained asleep.

A bit more of a smile and he lowered the sheets to bare his medic all the way to the backs of his knees. Before the cool air could stir him, those fingertips ran over the curve of one ample cheek, squeezing softly until his fingers indented the flesh. This roused his medic, who opened his dark gray eyes–which were coal black in the dim light. A questioning look, followed by a sleep induced husky voice asked,

"What are you doing...?" As he reached for the blankets, shuddering. Orochimaru let go, but he stopped his servant from retrieving the blanket.

"Hmm... Admiring my favorite weapon's attributes..." The Sannin answered smoothly. His medic's eyes hardened at that, and the snake pressed, "What's the matter...? You don't like the metaphor?"

"It's not... It's just the way ninja use them. They are useful, and precious in value sometimes, but in the end...they discard them." Kabuto said quietly, turning on his side a little more to face his master. Orochimaru merely smiled, touching Kabuto's cheek.

"Only if you use them like a ninja."

"You don't...?"

"Not you, Kabuto... No, I don't use you like a kunai, or a scroll. You are much more... like a sword."

"What's the difference? Besides Kusanagi which is inside you, don't you discard them all? I know you're not so cliche' as to liken me to Kusanagi..."

"No, dear boy, not at all. It's not the weapon that matters... it's how its viewed. I don't view you as a ninja views his tool of choice... No, it's much more like... a samurai."

"A samurai?" Now a silver eyebrow rose.

"Yes, that's it. To a samurai, his sword is not a tool. It is a companion, an extension of himself. It is a life partner, that never leaves his side... It protects him, and he takes care of it." The Sannin finished quietly, and Kabuto felt his cheeks burning. He turned his face into the pillows.

"...The weapon still doesn't matter... anyone can be that sword..."

"_No._" Orochimaru corrected, and his arm came about Kabuto's shoulders, pulling him against his chest. The youth's hot skin made him sigh, and he ran his nails over the medic's scalp slowly. "It is not the _idea_ of it, Kabuto... it is the _reality_. You are my sword, Kabuto... the one that aids me constantly." The nails continued on down his shoulders, and his back. This time, when he grasped the same firm cheek, he got a gasp.

"A...admiring again?" Kabuto asked, looking up to his master. The Sannin gave a wicked smile,

"No... this time I was thinking of sharing the enjoyment..." He chuckled, leaning down to meet Kabuto's lips with his own. The last candle sputtered out, leaving the two in almost complete darkness, as if giving privacy to the wielder and the wielded.


End file.
